Page 59 of The Earl's Scarred Bride

"Cecil!" she gasped, though heat pooled in her belly at his words. "You can't say such things."

"Can't I?" He grinned, unrepentant. "I'm merely suggesting we create happier memories to replace the painful ones. What did you think I meant, my innocent wife?"

"You know exactly what you meant," she muttered, fighting a smile. "And you're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

"No?" He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Yet you love me anyway."

"Heaven help me, I do." She reached up to touch his face, suddenly serious. "Promise me something?"

"Anything," he replied without hesitation.

"Promise me that if something troubles you again, you'll talk to me. No more running away, no more noble sacrifices. We face things together."

Cecil caught her hand, pressing a fierce kiss to her palm. "I promise. No more secrets, no more fears kept hidden. You are my partner in all things, Elizabeth. My heart, my home, my everything."

Another crash from above made them both jump, followed by Harriet's voice calling, "Elizabeth! I may have accidentally knocked over your jewelry box!"

"We should rescue your belongings," Cecil chuckled, though he made no move to release her. "Before your sister redecorates the entire room."

"In a moment," Elizabeth murmured, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him softly. "I just want to remember this perfect moment."

He cradled her face in his hands, kissing her with exquisite tenderness. "We'll have countless perfect moments, my love. Our story is far from over."

"Promise?" she whispered against his lips.

"With all my heart." He smiled, that special smile that was hers alone. "Now, shall we collect your things and go home?"

"Lead the way, my lord."

"Always," he replied softly, offering his arm once more.

EPILOGUE

Two months later…

The drawing room at Greyhall was filled with afternoon sunlight and laughter, a sound that still made Elizabeth's heart swell with joy. Emily sat beside her on the settee, one hand resting on her growing belly, while Madeleine occupied the armchair nearest the window. Their husbands were engaged in a heated debate about horse breeding with Laurence, who had arrived that morning from his Scottish estate.

"Lord, but it's good to hear laughter in these rooms again," Madeleine said, her eyes twinkling. "Do you remember, Emily, how dreadfully serious everything was before Cecil married our dear Elizabeth?"

"Indeed! Our brother would skulk about like some Gothic hero, all brooding looks and thunderous sighs," Emily replied with a dramatic flourish. "Now look at him—practically domesticated."

"I heard that," Cecil called from across the room, though his lips twitched with poorly suppressed amusement. "I assure you, I was never 'brooding.' Merely...contemplative."

"Contemplative?" Madeleine snorted most unladylike. "Is that what we're calling it now? Tell me, Elizabeth dear, does he still practice his contemplative scowls in the mirror each morning?"

Elizabeth bit back a laugh as her husband's ears reddened. "I couldn't possibly betray my husband's confidence," she demurred, though her eyes danced with mischief. "Though I will say the mirrors in our bedchamber have witnessed many...interesting expressions."

"Minx," Cecil mouthed at her, making her heart flutter even after months of marriage.

"Speaking of interesting expressions," Emily leaned forward conspiratorially, "do you remember when Mother caught him practicing his swordplay in the gallery? Using her best parasol as a rapier?"

"Good Lord, not this story again," Cecil groaned, but Elizabeth noticed his smile didn't fade at the mention of his mother—progress indeed.

"Oh, but we must tell Elizabeth!" Madeleine insisted. "You see, sister dear, our mighty earl was not always so graceful with a blade. There he was, barely twelve, swishing about Mother's prized silk parasol like some deranged musketeer-"

"I was teaching you both proper defensive techniques," Cecil protested. "As any good brother would."

"Is that what you told Mother when she found us?" Emily laughed. "All three of us frozen like guilty statues, her favorite parasol bent beyond recognition?"

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